


Give the Devil His Due

by Tsula



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Attempted Murder, Dubious Consent, F/M, Murder, Reader-Insert, Torture, Violence, future smut, i don't even know where this came from, tired of having it in my 'to be posted' folder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-06-02 16:16:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6573247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsula/pseuds/Tsula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You know, I don’t normally agree with my victims,” the voice that slithered out from the shadows was calm and a little amused. It was also much more terrifying than the one that had come out of the other man. Not so cold, but somehow more dangerous. “But he nailed it when it came to you.”</p><p>His smile was the first thing you really saw of him when he blurred out of the shadows. Wide and bemused in a way that did not feel right with a body at his feet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In His Debt

**Author's Note:**

> This just kinda happened one day and I held onto it... I wrote it up in one sitting almost a month ago, but I was wary of posting a new story before it was actually done, or at least close to it. However, I am tired of this thing just sitting around gathering dust. Plus I haven't posted anything in what feels like forever. ._. 
> 
> So, here you go, some random Reader/Victor trash.

Luck, much like life itself, is fickle and easily lost. One moment you’re riding the high of a damn good day and the next you’re getting shot at. 

Not even because of something you did either. Rather, because you’d stumbled upon someone being naughty and they didn’t much want to risk you running off for the cops. Regardless of the fact that you really hadn’t _seen_ anything. 

At least not until the first shot cracked the cement near your head. You ducked back around the bend, thankful as all hell that whoever was doing the shooting wasn’t exactly a crack shot. Though that feeling of appreciation lasted only about as long as it took to realize that you were boxed in courtesy of a big ass semi-truck that had backed on up into the only escape route. 

The door you’d entered the alley out of—a back exit from your workplace—had closed completely and locked you out. Josie had warned you from day one about letting the door close all the way, but you’d been too distracted by a pained outcry to bother with the little makeshift doorstop. 

Now you were paying for your altruism in typical ‘life fucking hates me’ fashion. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, if the rock was the size of a semi and the hard place carried a gun. 

You heard the thunk of heavy boots on the concrete and the sound made your insides twist so tightly you could have puked right then and there if you’d had anything in your stomach to bring back up. 

Obviously the not-so-sharpshooter was ready to up the ante and put a bullet in your skull. Meaning you had to move your ass and quick if you wanted to keep breathing. 

The only door was locked, the only open exit out of the alley had a gun-toting maniac blocking the path, and that meant the only remaining option was to crawl under the truck. 

There wasn’t enough room on either side to just squeeze through. The driver must have had some serious confidence with their rig or either really didn’t give a rats ass about hitting a wall with it. Either way, it kinda threw a monkey wrench into what would have otherwise been an easy escape. Because on the other side of that truck you would find a relatively busy sidewalk with plenty of hustle and bustle to get lost in. 

The shooter hadn’t had much of a chance to look you over and it wouldn’t be hard to blend in with the speed-walking pedestrians. You didn’t have much room to worry about getting other people killed, though it did cross your mind as you shimmied up under the big rig. It certainly was a possibility that whoever it was out to gun you down might not mind a little collateral damage. However the desire to survive was stronger than any misgivings and you sure as hell didn’t want to die in some dingy old alleyway over a ‘wrong place, wrong time’ mishap and a moment of humanity that you greatly regretted. 

It was hard to move fast enough and each step your potential killer took sounded a hundred times too loud. They were coming closer by the second and it felt like you were getting nowhere at all. You could see the light at the end, the fast-moving feet of the people on the sidewalk, and the traffic beyond. Yet it felt like they were a world away as you struggled to join them in the relative safety of the open world. Where it would be harder for someone to just up and shoot you. Where someone would at least _see it_ if they did anyway. 

Your knees and arms scraped brutally against the rough, dirty concrete as you army crawled through something damp that you really didn’t want to think too hard about. If you lived long enough, you were going to scald your skin right off in the hottest damn bath you could draw. 

The rumble of the crowd could almost drown out the sound of those godforsaken boots as you fantasied about all the ways you would pamper yourself if you made it home. Hell, you’d even call your boss and tell him to shove that shitty, thankless job right up his tight ass. 

About halfway to freedom you stopped thinking about these pleasing ‘if I live’ scenarios and started freaking out a little. Well, a lot really. There came a much louder sort of rumble that drowned out every other sound. A rumble of a large engine suspended over your head. 

The driver was back in the rig and ready to hit the road. Too late to move out of your path and grant you freedom, but just in time to crush you beneath its massive wheels… or worse.

Somehow getting shot seemed more terrifying by comparison. Not so much because of the pain—you knew either option would be unbearable—but because the gunman was so ready to kill. You knew that if they caught you… that was it. They weren’t going to let you live. Maybe it’d be quick and painless, but there was always the option of it being so much worse.

Now being crushed was a horrible outcome that you didn’t want either, but it seemed… better somehow. Not by much, but the end appeared to be coming either way. 

You just couldn’t catch a break. 

The truck started pulling out of the alley despite your best attempts to make it out from under it first. It moved slow, the way big trucks always do when they first get going, but it was still too fast for your tastes. It certainly was moving faster than you were able to. 

The wheels were turning and rolling too close for comfort as you drug yourself along with as much haste as could be mustered on your belly. You were moving inches by the second and it was moving feet. 

A low hanging part of the truck’s underbelly nearly knocked you upside the head and you had to pull your legs to the side quickly when the wheels turned. 

You could hear cars honking as the truck pulled out of the alley and you could also hear your pulse thrumming frantically as the end of the truck came rushing over your head. 

The heavy thud of familiar boots made a sudden reappearance as you lay there in the gutter. You could hear the metal click of the gun being readied, the sound somehow magnified above even the rush of traffic and what was probably the last few beats of your heart. 

You turned onto your side, knowing that there was no chance of whoever the hell was trying to kill you missing this time. Just as there was no chance of you getting away. They were too close and the road too far. 

Was anyone looking? Would they see anything before you died? Or after? Would they even hear the gunshot over the sound of traffic and people? 

Even if no one saw more than your corpse after the fact, you wanted to see your killer. To make them look you in the eye as they robbed you of your life. It was a move braver than you actually felt, but it was defiance in the face of death. The last act of free will before a very untimely end. 

You looked up at your killer, unsure of what to expect, but certain in your desire to see their face. To look at them if only once before the curtain fell and you became another statistic. 

Just another poor soul gunned down for being somewhere at the wrong time. A brief mention in the papers ultimately forgotten by weeks end. Maybe they’d catch your killer, but the odds were better that they wouldn’t. 

Someone so ready and willing to kill was hard to find and harder to catch. Most cops wouldn’t care to try all that hard. You weren’t anyone important, so far as they were concerned: you wouldn’t be worth the effort. 

Grey eyes met yours when you looked up to your impending demise. Cold, steely grey without a hint of compassion or guilt. It was the best you were going to get, because his face was hidden beneath a mask. 

He was tall, burly, and sure with every move. His hands didn’t shake as he leveled the gun, even as you held his gaze. There wasn’t a moment of hesitation when he looked down on you there in the street, though your eyes were pleading and tearing up despite the effort you put into remaining brave. 

You kept your lips pressed tight into a firm line so that you would not beg for your life, because you knew it wouldn’t matter to him. Yet your eyes betrayed you and begged regardless. They sought mercy that didn’t exist within this man, this cold uncaring killer. 

“Any last words, sweetheart?” His voice mocked your unspoken plea. 

He didn’t even care if you screamed. You could hear it in his tone. It didn’t matter if people heard your cries or saw him shoot you dead. Your fate was as sure as the sunrise and you both knew it. 

“No?” He sounded so amused. “Such a brave face. I am almost feel bad about this.” He stepped just a little closer, looming just a little higher with his nearness. “ _Almost_.”

Your breath caught as his finger tightened around the trigger. Every sense, every nerve heightened in that moment—the moment that lasted too long and yet not nearly long enough. You heard things louder, felt things stronger… It was a rush more powerful and consuming than every drug you’d ever dabbled in combined. 

For a brief, fleeting space of time it was almost… euphoric. Before reality crashed down upon you in the ringing sound of a gunshot. 

The air in your lungs rushed out in one, sudden exhale. Your last breath.

Or so you’d expected.

Your lungs were empty for the span of several seconds before the need for air made them burn and you gasped for breath. 

You didn’t feel pain. Not the pain you’d expected. Only the continued ache from crawling across the ground. The only sear of agony fading with every breath because you hadn’t been shot. 

He was standing not ten feet away and _you hadn’t been shot_. 

You watched him feeling your expression slip from surprise to abject shock as the gun slipped from his fingers and clattered to the ground seconds before he crumpled into a heap beside it. 

He didn’t move again. 

The movement came from behind him. Someone was coming down the alley, shaded by the shadows of the tall buildings as they grew darker with the sinking sun. Their steps were light, but easy. Not at all hesitant or wary even after shooting someone. In fact, they were almost skipping.

“You know, I don’t normally agree with my victims,” the voice that slithered out from the shadows was calm and a little amused. It was also much more terrifying than the one that had come out of the other man. Not so cold, but somehow more dangerous. “But he nailed it when it came to you.”

His smile was the first thing you really saw of him when he blurred out of the shadows. Wide and bemused in a way that did not feel right with a body at his feet. 

This man was a new danger, though he held no weapon out towards you. By all rights he was non-threatening. Tall, bald, and sharply dressed; he didn’t exactly look like a dangerous criminal.

_But that smile…_

“Which part?” Your voice didn’t quiver, though your body certainly did. “About my brave face or me being moments from death?”

He chuckled a little and took you by surprise when he offered out his hand. “The brave part.” You took it more out of shock than anything else. Plus, you were a little afraid of turning him down. He had the feel of a man who’d killed for less. “Was that the first time you’ve had a gun in your face? You certainly didn’t act like it.”

You trembled a little as his pulled you close, running his fingers down your spine and making you think of all the ways he could probably kill you with that hand alone. 

“He wouldn’t have stopped if I begged.” This time your voice was but a whisper, yet he was more than close enough to hear it. 

He had at least a foot over you, but he was leaning down. Close enough that you could feel his breath on your cheek as you looked him in the eye. 

“You could tell that just from his eyes, could you?” There was something in his tone that made you more nervous than the body on the ground and his closeness combined. Something shrewd, dangerous, and intrigued. “What can you tell from mine?” 

You realized where his hands were going at the same moment he started moving you. They gripped tightly to your hips to angle you in the direction he wanted. Out of the light, away from any eyes that might have dared to glance down that alley. Though, with the sun glaring down on the bustling streets they would not have easily seen what was going on. 

The body in the gutter was just a misshapen shadow and you were just a woman being guided back against the wall by a well dressed man. Nothing so insidious at first glance and that was all anyone would care to take. People in Gotham don’t care to look too close at anything, lest they wind up in just your predicament. 

“Come on now,” he sounded almost excited as he backed you into the wall. “Don’t be shy.” He pressed against you so tightly you could feel him all over. He was warm and strong, but the sensation of his body against your own left you cold and afraid.

You knew he could do anything he pleased and you wouldn’t be able to stop him. You could feel his strength, though he did not exert very much of it as he held you. It lingered as a threat between you: unspoken but ever present. 

He leaned down to press his lips to your ear the way a lover might and you shuddered as his breath hit your throat. You had never felt more vulnerable in your life. 

“You aren’t my target,” he murmured against your ear. “I’ll only hurt you if you make me.” 

You tried to keep your mouth shut, but something inside pushed out a reply before you could remind yourself _why_ you should stay quiet. 

“And how would I do that exactly?” This time your voice did quiver and he seemed to like it. “Obviously screaming is useless since no one bothered to care about the gunshots.” His low, sinister laugh was even worse up close and personal. You could feel the vibrations of his chest against your own and it made you a little dizzy. “Plus you don’t exactly seem worried about all the people nearby.”

“See, this is why I like you.” He chortled, pulling back to look you dead in the eye with that wicked smile in place. “So rational, so reasonable. Most girls just scream regardless and try to run for help.” His hands were moving from your hips and you fought the urge to push him away. It didn’t take much to remind yourself just how little good it would do. Even with his grip loosened and his hands in motion you could feel the strength he could use if you made him. The violence waiting in the wings for you to do something to set him off. “Not you though,” his voice dropped a couple octaves as he leaned down once more, but towards your lips this time. “There’s something very special about you.” Your heart stuttered as he neared your mouth and you could taste his breath on your tongue. “You—”

A sound cut him off. Not a siren like you were hoping for or even the intrusion of another person. Rather, a familiar jingle that made him sigh as he dug into his jacket pocket.

That someone like him had “Funkytown” as a ring-tone might have been amusing under better circumstances, but not with him so close and looking so ready to eat you alive.

“Job’s done.” He stated simply to whoever was on the phone and quickly frowned at whatever they said. The expression was more sulky than sullen and closer to a pout really, but it was hard to label it as such on the face of a seasoned killer. “Well that puts a damper on my plans.” He sounded a little sulky too. “Sure thing, _boss_.” 

He stowed the phone back in his jacket but didn’t move away at first. You wondered if this was the part where he put a bullet in your skull, but he did something… different. 

Before you could think of what to do or say, he leaned down and pressed his lips to yours. It was quick and simple, yet what it did to you was anything but. 

He smirked in a fashion that was a little too knowing as he stepped away. “We’ll have to pick this up later,” you didn’t make a move or say a damn thing as he watched you. “The boss needs another problem,” he shot a pointed glance towards the body on the ground. “ _Taken care of._ ” 

And just like that he turned on his heels and marched down the alley, raising a hand in farewell as he went. “Later!”


	2. Just a Taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Somehow I doubt you broke into my apartment to play with my _cat_.” 
> 
> His lips quirked as if you’d said something very amusing and you realized too late just how that statement could be misconstrued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so massively overdue that I keep feeling like it will never be good enough to make up for the wait, but I hope that you all still get some enjoyment out of it nonetheless. 
> 
> Huuuuuuuge thanks to Koneko for her unwavering patience and sweet persistence in getting me to work on this. It'd still be sidelined (since my inner critic rails the teetotal fuck out of me over smut) if not for her asking after it and cheering me on. :D

Somehow you were still alive and mentally scarred for likely the remainder of your existence. However long that would turn out to be. 

Your ‘savior’ had seemed quite reluctant to part ways and you had an inkling that it would not be the last time you’d be making his acquaintance. Probably not the last time he’d be pinning you against a wall either. 

There was a little fire mixing in with the chill in your veins at such a thought and you weren’t sure if it was anger or desire. The man had, certainly, saved your life. He was also not unattractive. Yet there was more danger in him than in the man he’d saved you from. 

There was also the fact that you’d seen him _murder_ someone and you’d damn sure gotten a good look at his face. He didn’t seem bothered by this. Either because he knew you wouldn’t turn him in or because it didn’t matter if you tried. It wasn’t as though the GCPD didn’t have a vast wealth of crooked cops on the payroll of dangerous criminals. No doubt he had a few well placed people ready and waiting for you to do something stupid. 

That or he was having you watched.

He seemed too good, too confident, to just trust you or outright not give a damn. He may have had interests outside of murder when it came to you, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t kill you if you tried something. He’d made a point of saying as much and you were more than willing to take his word on it. 

Though you weren’t quite ready to accept that he would just let you live even if you kept your mouth shut. You were a loose end. 

Men like him could not abide such things. 

Rather than packing up and running for your life like you probably should have, you called in sick and stayed hidden behind a locked door. Not that you fancied the lock’s chances against a hitman. At least, that was what you assumed him to be. He’d killed a man for his boss and made that little quip about running off to take care of another ‘problem’. It didn’t seem like much of a leap that he killed for a living. 

You weren’t sure though if him being a professional killer was more or less terrifying than if he’d just been some random murderer. At least he hadn’t killed you right then and there, but his profession opened up a whole world of terrible options. No doubt he was well versed in torture and he probably even enjoyed it. 

Feeling more stressed and tense at the thought, you decided to take a long, hot bath. You had, after all, survived and it seemed only appropriate to give into your self-pampering fantasies. Especially since you didn’t know just how long you’d actually be allowed to live and you still had no idea what you’d been crawling through. You didn’t want to know either.

***

It was hard to devote your attention to any one thing. Especially with questions like ‘will I die doing this’ and ‘is this how I’d spend my last day’ kept stopping in to ruin the mood. 

You couldn’t enjoy your bath properly because you kept expecting the door to be kicked in at any given moment. Every little noise made you jumpy. From a gust of wind making the windows rattle to a backfiring car that sounded way too much like a gunshot. Normal city sounds and even the ‘thump, thump’ of neighbors upstairs made you think of impending doom. 

Not exactly the right mindset for a bubble bath. 

Thus, after losing half your bath water with another jolt at a harmless sound, you decided that TV might be a safer way to pass the time. At least then you wouldn’t have to use a pile of towels to clean up the floor. Plus, maybe it would be distracting enough that you could actually forget the mind-numbing fear of potential doom that seemed to hover over your very being like some sort of invisible, mocking specter.

It seemed unlikely that you’d be any less wound up and jumpy, but what else could you do? So you wrapped a towel around yourself and headed off in search of some lounging clothes… and maybe some whiskey to take the edge off.

You made it as far as the hallway and froze at the sight of a bald headed intruder sitting in your living room. It didn’t even take a moment to register who it was either. Because it was the very person you’d been expecting to swoop in and end your life at any given moment. 

He looked very at home on your sofa, with your cat sitting comfortably in his lap. You felt a little betrayed at the sight of the fluff-ball curled up all calm and content with a murderous intruder. 

You really should have gotten a dog. At least then you would have gotten a heads up, if nothing else. 

Naturally your presence had not gone undetected. He cocked his head in your direction when you made no move to come around and, upon catching sight of you, he turned fully for a better look. He seemed to enjoy the sight of you in nothing but a towel. You tried not to think too much on it and also what might be going through his head right then. Rather you insisted on clinging to your ire and holding it between you like a shield. 

“You two seem to be getting along.” There was a heavy dose of disdain in your tone that completely overpowered your nerves. It made you sound far less worried about your potential death than you actually were. 

“I like cats.” He admitted easily as he scratched your content kitty behind the ears. “Smart, agile, lethal.”

‘Just like you’ tittered on the tip of your tongue, but you kept your mouth shut. You didn’t find much comfort in the idea of being cute with a killer. Especially not one who could kill both you and your cat with the ease one might crush an ant. 

He didn’t seem all that interested in killing you, but you didn’t trust that to last. 

Still, he looked to be waiting for you to say _something_ and it seemed very rude to just ignore him. The thought of how he might respond to rudeness worried you. 

“Somehow I doubt you broke into my apartment to play with my _cat_.” 

His lips quirked as if you’d said something very amusing and you realized too late just how that statement could be misconstrued. 

He stood up, setting the cat aside on the sofa as he went, and you were reminded even at a distance how much taller than you he was. How big, strong, and dangerous this _intruder_ in your home was. It was something that shouldn’t have slipped your mind at all and yet there it was smacking you in the face for your moment of foolish bravery. 

You tried not to let it show just how nervous you suddenly were, but you doubted it was a very successful attempt. Something about the way he looked at you made it feel like he could see right through you. 

Especially when he started moving.

He was coming closer and you did the only thing that felt right: you backed away. Backed just as far as you could until you jolted at the feeling of something sturdy against your back.

You reached blindly for the handle of the door, not wanting to take your eyes off the impending danger, but by the time you found it he was already on you. 

He didn’t do what you expected though. It wasn’t an attack… at least not in the way you’d been picturing. 

He was kissing you again, but this time it was not so quick and simple. It was deep, hungry, and even more confusing for it. Your hand hovered over the doorknob as he pressed himself into you. It felt like he was trying to _consume_ you into himself, to devour you completely. 

And some part of you was intrigued by that. Some foolish, twisted piece of you wondered how it might feel to just give in. To let him have you. 

What could you do against such a monster anyway? Why fight something that felt so… _good_. 

Good and bad. Right and wrong. Everything you wanted and everything you should stay away from. You knew better than to let him so close, but you couldn’t muster to will to push him away. Not even when you were lightheaded and aching for a breath of air. 

He was the one that moved away, though he did not move far. You could still feel his lips as you both breathed in one another. He was so close all you could rightly see were his eyes. And his eyes were _wild_ … Yet somehow that didn’t scare you half as much as the feelings he’d inspired. The yearning he’d incited. 

He reached for your hand, the one still hovering over the doorknob, and brushed it aside to grab it himself. The door fell away and you might have fallen with it had he not wrapped you up in his arms just then. 

He held you like he’d never let you go… and maybe he wouldn’t. The look in his eyes wasn’t just hungry, it was possessive. As though he were looking for a taste of something that _belonged_ to him.

That should have frightened you more than anything. Yet what you felt didn’t seem like fear. It was far too warm and curious a sensation. You wondered at why he felt this way more than you pondered your own feelings. He should have killed you in that alley or at any point since, but nothing about the way he acted around you hinted at any such future. 

You saw yourself alive for what he had in mind.

He tugged open the towel still clutched at your chest and let it drop as he continued to lead you back. His eyes never strayed from your face, even as one of his hands started to roam. The sound he made in the back of his throat was like he’d swallowed a groan.

Apparently he _liked_ what he felt. 

He kissed you again and there was a tinge of something desperate in the way he seemed to need you. Something dangerous because one taste would never be enough. Once he had you, he wouldn’t let you go. 

You could see it lingering in his thoughts as he pulled back when you were just short of suffocating. Something fierce in his gaze and feral in his smirk that made your knees weak and your good sense too garbled up to hear. 

You let him lead you to the bed and you let him lower you on to it. Didn’t so much as flinch as his knees fell one by one on either side of your thighs. Even flat on your back he still caged you and the surge of fear was so small compared to everything else you felt. 

There you were pinned to your bed by a dangerous criminal wearing nothing more than desire and shame and you weren't afraid.

It was only when he was looming over you with no sign of resistance, that his eyes begin to roam. His gaze so warm and heavy that you could feel it trailing across your skin. He took in every detail, every dip, curve, and imperfection. It was nerve wrecking in its own right, but the way he looked at you left no room for worries or issues with how you looked. 

His eyes only burned brighter and his intent shown more fiercely. His gaze was possessive, covetous and need driven. He looked like he’d set the world on fire just to touch you…

You hadn’t realized you’d been holding your breath until he started to move. He leaned down towards you, letting his lips drag soft and sweet down the side of your face. His touch so light you trembled. 

He paused at the corner of your lips and you fought the urge to turn. He was so close and warm that you were forgetting every reason why this shouldn’t happen, why you shouldn’t let him kiss you. Why you shouldn’t _want_ him to kiss you.

You weren’t even sure if you did or if it was just your body’s response to the intimacy of the situation. It was hard to tell what was want and what was instinctive desire. 

He was, after all, attractive and powerful with that delicious touch of danger that should have sent you running but instead somehow drew you closer. You couldn’t rightly say how you felt about him in earnest, because your body was reacting too strongly to his closeness and his touch. 

You couldn’t remember the last time someone touched you like that. 

He continued passed your lips though, leaving you to your worries and fretting only until his lips touched your neck. You let your head fall back and the pleasant sensation of him kissing your throat drown out thoughts in your head. It was so much nicer to focus on what he was doing than to question why and how you felt about it. To just let him do as he wished and reap the benefits of the pleasure he seemed determined to bring you. 

He kissed his way along your neck and down your chest spending a little extra time and sparing more attention for every soft, sensitive spot he found. When your breath caught, he pressed harder. When you arched into him, he drew back just enough to make his lips ghost your skin. Just enough that you could scarcely feel him and it lured you closer. And when you made any sound—a sigh, a keen, a moan—his hands joined in the fun. 

Those rough, skilled, and dangerous hands ran all over, touching every spot you wanted them to save for one… the same one he seemed to be kissing his way towards and that had you aching with anticipation. You wanted him to hurry and yet the slow, teasing pace was so terribly delightful. It made you anxious and needy, but felt so unspeakably good all the while. You couldn’t bring yourself to ask for more, but you arched into him with shameless desire. Your hands twisted up so tight in the covers your knuckles were pale and your fingers painful and tingling. 

It felt like he was smiling against your skin, working his way down that last little bit to get exactly where you wanted him. Though he turned to kiss your thighs before he put his mouth where you needed it. Yet once he was there the wait felt worth it. 

You couldn’t recall feeling anything so _good_ before. And he seemed so perfectly content with his head buried between your legs. Sounded it too. He groaned against you, making you quiver at the feel of it. You couldn’t stay still with the way he touched you, the way he made you feel. You arched and writhed; shivered and trembled. 

He loved every bit of it apparently. Every time you made a sound he’d reward you with a little more pressure in all the right places. Every time you moved against him he groaned and increased the sensations between your thighs. 

He wound you up so tight only to work you back down, slowly. Gently. It was maddening and wonderful and left you positively begging for more. 

He also seemed to like it when you begged too. Seemed to like it a lot in fact. The sound of it made him wilder, made his touch firmer, and the slow drag of his tongue suddenly quick and desperate. Like he needed your release just as much as you did. 

He worked you faster, adding his fingers into the mix to bring you closer and closer to what you both _needed_. Your breath caught, your body tensed, and the hand holding your hip tightened to the point of bruising… but you didn’t care. The idea of wearing his mark in any sense felt like a perfectly reasonable exchange for what he was doing to you. 

Because finally, _finally_ , you could feel that sweet, intoxicating precipice as he forced you right up and over it. 

Your head tilted back as you arched into him and he held you closer, drinking you in with that same frenzied desire. Your long, breathless cry making him tremble against you as he worked you through the bliss until you were limp and warm and honestly a little confused. 

Thankfully he seemed to expect nothing in return. At least not yet. You weren’t entirely sure what you would do if he did either, which was a problem in itself. 

Your body was warm, tingling, and relaxed. Yet your mind was suddenly on the opposite end of that spectrum—nervous, frantic, confused, and a little terrified. Not so much of him this time around as of yourself and the way your body reacted to him. It was like you weren’t even in control of yourself when he touched you… You lost yourself so quickly to the desire for what he offered that you were having a hard time regaining control. 

You were flat on your back beneath a professional killer and so much at his mercy you couldn’t stand yourself. Not only was he a stranger, he was a _murderous stranger_ and yet all you wanted was for him to stay right there between your legs. 

He kissed your thigh and smiled, letting his cheek rest against your skin for a long moment that he seemed to relish. “Gotta run, baby.”

That should have been a relief to hear, especially with the mayhem his presence kick-started inside your head. Yet you felt almost bereaved at the thought of him leaving and maybe even a little warm at the endearing pet name. 

He didn’t just get up and go though. Rather, he moved very slowly, kissing every bit of exposed skin he could find on his way up. He dragged himself up the length of your body until his lips anchored at the soft, sensitive skin of your throat. 

You couldn’t help the way your back arched, pushing yourself closer as he marked you. He groaned against your flesh as you writhed, pulling your hips closer so that he could better feel you move. You could feel the sound vibrate against your chest and throat. You shouldn’t have enjoyed it nearly as much as you did.

You shouldn’t have enjoyed any of this. 

After a moment he pulled back, propping himself up on his hands so that he could look at you. He loomed there over you looking every bit as hungry as before and the worst of it was the way your body heated and quivered at just that _look_. The unbearable thirst for this man who was both stranger and murderer, yet touched you with such reverence it killed you a little. 

He was confusing in every thing he did and you should have ran from him just as surely as you should have run from such conflicting emotions. It would have been safer that way, smarter… but you stayed just as you were. 

He got up with reservations because he too wanted to stay just as he was. If not for that damn phone that you hadn’t even noticed had been ringing in the background he’d have stayed right there on that bed with you and that he wasn’t should have been a god send… but it wasn’t. 

He left and in his wake was an ache, a yearning that was so uncalled for and despicable you wanted to throw yourself out the nearest damn window.


End file.
